The Writing Bug

I’m pretty sure it happened during the wide-eyed page turns of Harry Potter. Or maybe it went further back to Goosebumps and The Babysitter’s Club. I remember sitting in bed as a child, long after the lights had been shut off, straining to read just a few more pages before sleep. At least I think I do. I’ve read enough books to skew my own memories. I know what you’re thinking, “ohhh, she’s talking about when she fell in love with reading.” You’re wrong. Kind of.

I fell in love with writing while reading. Sometimes I forget how in love with writing I am. With words in general. The way they torment me when they are new. The obsession of understanding what I do not understand. That bottomless pit feeling stretching from stomach to throat when they make me feel a certain way. I love words. I love writing them. I love the silent, eyes shut, sigh of realization and appreciation I see on the faces of those who read or hear my words.

Working on three novels has inadvertently driven me away from writing. It’s strange for me to acknowledge that I’ve had too many words. Too many stories and characters fusing themselves together. Becoming one. I took a break from writing. From weaving the worlds I’ve dreamt by pen or in this most recent case, by keystroke.

I’ve had plenty of time to contemplate what I want to do with writing and while I don’t have the answers yet, I thought I’d share this post with you guys.